Sing It, Mr. President

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

At Saturday's Gridiron Club dinner in Washington, President Bush spoofed "Green, Green Grass of Home."

Brown, Brown

Grass of Home

Little Crawford . . .

looks the same,

As I step down from the plane,

And there to meet me . . .

is my mama and my papa.

Down the lane I look

and here comes Barney

Heart of gold and breath like honey

It's good to touch the brown, brown grass of home.

Yes, you're all . . . gonna miss me,

the way you used to quiz me.

It's good to touch the brown, brown grass of home.

I spend my days

clear'n brush,

Clear my head of

all the fuss,

Like that big fuss you made

over Harriet and Brownie.

Down the lane I look

and here comes Scooter

Fin'lly free of the prosecutor.

It's good to touch the brown, brown grass of home.

Then I awake...

and look around me

At the oval walls . . .

that surround me,

And I realize . . .

I was only dreamin'.

For there's Condi . . .

and Dick, my old compadre

Talkin to me . . .

about some oil-rich Saudi,

But soon I'll touch

the brown, brown grass of home.

Yes, you're all . . . gonna miss me,

the way you used to quiz me.

But soon I'll touch the brown, brown grass of home.

Possible encore verse

That old White House . . . is behind me.

I am again carefree.

Don't have to worry . . .

'bout a crisis in Pyongyang.

Down the lane I look

Dick Cheney's strollin',

With documents he'd been withholdin'

It's good to touch the brown, brown grass of home.

Yes, you're all . . . gonna miss me,

the way you used to diss me.

But soon I'll touch the brown, brown grass of home.